


The Serpent Said To The Man

by EllaStorm



Category: Historical RPF, Will (TV 2017)
Genre: 2x02, Banter, Blasphemy, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Marlowe is Very Good At Seduction, Will is a Mess, following that table snoggery, sexy bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 05:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: Will knows that Kit Marlowe is playing deceitful games. His invitation, his tone of voice, and most of all his kiss carry a strong hint of ulterior motives. That's why Will declines his advances, more or less politely. But leaving Marlowe alone proves more difficult than he thought…





	The Serpent Said To The Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Jamie Campbell Bower's fault.

Marlowe’s laughter carried a glittering harshness to it; too snide to be pleasing, yet too exuberant to be truly derogatory. Will was still covering his mouth with the back of his hand, stunned by his own aggressive retraction that had left him stumbling halfway into Marlowe’s fireplace. Part of him wanted to up and flee, but Marlowe was shifting on the table, his long, velour-clad legs almost spider-like as his feet touched ground and his head came up to face Will once more, pinning him in place. The blond hair was tousled around his head, his fingers absentmindedly wiping the side of his lip and the deep-cut garment meant to cover his upper body left a lot of upper body decidedly _un_ covered, when he bowed forward. With the ink adorning the skin of his chest, he looked positively indecent.

But then, that was who Marlowe was. Indecent. Provocative. And, yet, a mystery.

_He could strip bare right in front of me, and let me see everything, EVERYTHING, and he would still remain a stranger._

Will didn’t want to dwell on that thought for too long. Not after what had just happened. It proved a little difficult, though, with Marlowe’s deep, pale eyes so completely fixed on him, not unlike those of a snake expertly sizing up its prey.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Marlowe said, but it sounded the exact opposite of sincere. Will shivered a little, despite the warmth from the fireplace in his back. He still didn’t know what exactly Marlowe wanted from him. Some of his ideas, that much was clear, ideas and words that Will would never give to him; but if this had been an attempt at seduction, it had been a rather poor one.

 _Unless-_ To his complete and utter chagrin, Will had to admit to himself that Marlowe was a good kisser. And that, under different circumstances, he might have even kissed him back. Not like this, though, in the midst of this game of camouflage and obliquity, that Marlowe seemed to be playing to perfection. Which, in turn, made Will very sceptical about the rules.

“What, exactly, is it that you want from me?” he said. His voice was shaking, despite his best attempts at composure; and he saw the corners of Marlowe’s lips tug upwards, noticing.

With an elegance that betrayed the devil-may-care-aura of his apparel, Marlowe slid off the table and grabbed his forgotten chalice of wine. He took a long sip from it, his neck a pale, thin arch, before setting it down and stalking over to where Will stood, still somewhat nailed to the spot for no particularly good reason.

The look in Marlowe’s eyes was full of intent and the space he left between Will’s and his face entirely too narrow, when he finally came to a halt. On his breath, Will could smell the wine, and something more metallic behind it. Blood?

_Did I bite him when I tore away from him?_

His eyes instinctually wandered down to Marlowe’s lips, wet from the wine, looking for a mark, but couldn’t find one, and when he looked up again, Marlowe was smiling at him in a very disconcerting manner that made another shiver run down Will’s spine.

“I think I made it quite clear what I want from you.”

“You want my words,” Will retorted, aiming for steadfast with his tone of voice once again, but merely achieving something just short of intimidated. He wanted to add a firm _You won’t get them,_ but it got stuck in his throat, when Marlowe bowed forward to speak. His lips were so close to Will’s that he could feel Marlowe’s hot breath on them.

“Very observant. And yet, not entirely correct.”

Will was searching Marlowe’s eyes, trying not to get stuck in them in the process. What he had thus far been sure was blue and grey looked more like a stormy green now, and it really shouldn’t have surprised him that Marlowe’s eyes were deceptive, too. Still, he found it ever more difficult to look away.

“What do you want, then?” Will’s voice was hardly more than a whisper now.

He felt a surge of _something_ in his stomach when Marlowe tilted his head to the side, as if to kiss him again, surveying him for a long, breathless moment. Then his cheek brushed past Will’s, and his mouth came to rest against Will’s earshell.

“If a man kisses you, my darling William, there are not necessarily more ulterior motives at play than those which are already implied in the kiss itself.” A soft sigh left Marlowe’s lips, and Will felt another tug deep in his guts _,_ this time accompanied by a very unwelcome southward rush of blood.

“And what are those motives?” he asked, before he could think better of it. Marlowe’s close proximity and the warmth of his body were meddling not only with Will’s blood flow, but also with the command he had over his thoughts.

Marlowe pulled back and looked at him, another cock of his head to the side. The expression in his eyes was completely impenetrable.

“Carnal acts that will inevitably damn every living soul to Hell that engages in them.” The tone of Marlowe’s voice was almost disinterested, but the small, devilish glint in his eyes told Will that he knew _exactly_ what impact each of his words had. “Though that prospect has never been able to stop _me._ Hell is, after all, full of rather interesting people. And I wouldn’t, for the _life_ of me,” The wicked look in his eyes intensified. “want to miss out on the vibrant pleasures of another man’s touch. It can be _so…_ ”

Right at this moment, Will decided that he couldn’t take a second longer of this, of Marlowe talking about pleasures and Hell with that arrogant expression on his angelic face, of the heat in his back and at his front, and the by-now-uncomfortable tightness of his breeches. It was this mounting frustration, truly, that made him curl a hand around Marlowe’s neck, pull him in and kiss him, brutally, on the mouth.

Next to his eyes, and all the rest of him, Marlowe’s mouth was maybe the most deceptive of all. Will had been sure there would be a fight for power, a clash of teeth, a little taste of which he’d gotten before, when Marlowe had staunchly claimed his mouth on the table. Instead, Marlowe _yielded_. His lips turned into a soft, sweet receptacle for Will’s demanding kiss and allowed his tongue access without resistance. Marlowe’s tongue met Will’s halfway, playful, teasing, and Will couldn’t quite suppress a low moan when long, deft fingers tangled in his hair and angled his head, pulling with more gentleness than even Alice had done a few days before.

When he needed to come up for air, Marlowe’s hands were still in his hair, and his eyes had taken on a strange warmth.

“…inspiring,” Marlowe finished his sentence; and then Will put his mouth on him again, because he found he really couldn’t stop. Kissing Marlowe and touching Marlowe was oddly beguiling; intoxicating almost in the same way writing was. Just that it wasn’t Will’s mind that was aflame now, but his body, his skin, his every blood vessel.

 _Inspiring_ was a very good expression for it, Will had to give Marlowe that.

Marlowe’s hand found a way under Will’s shirt not too long after, and Will keened for it, for more touches of Marlowe’s graceful hands, touches to where he was hard and leaking in his breeches. He ground his hips into Marlowe’s, and Marlowe let out a small groan that turned into a laugh.

“You’ve never done this before, have you? With a man?”

Will pulled away far enough to look Marlowe in the eye. He expected to find ridicule there, but instead he spotted a dark, gleaming interest that sent another shockwave to his groin.

“No,” he said, his voice rough from kissing.

“So you will be mine, first,” Marlowe whispered, and, _God,_ the velvet in his voice and the embers in his eyes made Will want to give him _everything_.

“Yes,” he answered. It sounded closer to an _Amen_ than Will would have liked to admit.

A moment later he was being pulled down to the floor. He was prepared to have his head knocked against hardwood, but instead he landed on a woollen blanket that Marlowe must have pulled down with them from one of the chairs; and then none of that really mattered anymore, because Marlowe was on top of him, kissing him, and Will could feel the solid weight of Marlowe’s own arousal pressing into his hip through their trousers. He buried his hands in Marlowe’s hair, revelling in the way it fell through his fingers, before his desire to touch skin became overwhelming.

He tugged at Marlowe’s shirt, and Marlowe grinned against Will’s lips and helped him pull it over his head. The sight of his unclad upper body entranced Will for a moment, the way its paleness and sharp lines were softened by the firelight, and he let his hands glide over Marlowe’s back, down his sides, right before Marlowe pulled away and stood to get rid of his boots and breeches.

At last, he was naked before Will, glorious, slender, golden. _An eternal day of summer might look like he does,_ Will thought, fleetingly, then Marlowe was on him again, freeing him of his clothes. When Will finally lay before him, just as naked as Marlowe was, Marlowe’s hand came up to touch his chest. It was a curious touch, too soft to really fulfil any purpose, but Marlowe’s words were even softer yet.

“I’ve always been of the opinion,” he said. “That in order to worship beauty entirely, one must resort to a certain amount of blasphemy. You look rather divine in this light.”

Will was lost for words, lost for thoughts, really, when Marlowe started painting the lines of his body with his hands and tongue, painstakingly circling his nipples before finally giving each of them a sharp nip and moving on, but only after Will had whispered _please_.

When Marlowe finally touched Will’s cock with his lithe, slender hands, Will thought he was going to go out of his mind. “Oh, _God._ ”

Marlowe smiled up at him. “Is this a prayer or a blasphemy?” Without waiting for an answer and without giving any warning whatsoever he bowed his head and swallowed Will’s cock down in a single movement.

“ _Fuck.”_

Marlowe came up again, the smile now broader on his lips. “The latter, I see. I must be beautiful, then.”

It sounded blasé, not to be taken as a serious statement, but Will’s hand came up, a reflex, and stroked the side of Marlowe’s face, traced the sharpness of his cheekbones beneath strands of blond hair.

“You are,” he said, meaning it. “By God, I want to write you down.”

Marlowe blinked at him, and for the first time Will saw emotion on his face that was neither masked with sarcasm nor clouded by carefully placed blankness. He saw bewilderment. And, beneath that, a hesitant kind of joy.  
“I will take you up on that offer, William. Later.” Marlowe licked his lips, lewdly, and Will felt another spark of lust spring to life inside him, adding to the viscous honey pooling at the base of his spine, as Marlowe lowered his head down over Will’s cock once again.

“For now, a little more blasphemy will have to suffice.”


End file.
